Scenario
by Solain Rhyo
Summary: After the struggles are over and the Nobodies rendered history, Axel finds himself facing a new and more dire dilemna in the form of ruffled clothing. Ficlets.
1. No Timid Flower

**.X.**

"Are you sure you can handle this?"

Leon was the only one who didn't notice the change that underwent Aeris at those words. Sora and his companions watched in a kind of mystified awe as her back straightened, as her chin came up with an air of defiant indignation, as her hands clenched tightly at her sides. And as Leon opened his mouth to add to his first question, Sora and the others shook their heads frantically, seeing the imminent disaster and trying to warn him of it. But he was oblivious and continued after another moment, "I mean, can you handle this by yourself?"

She spun around so fast that the tail of her hair struck him, whip-like, in the face. He took one step back at the expression on her face, and another when he saw the uncharacteristic, fierce light in her eyes. Realizing then exactly what he'd said that he shouldn't have, he answered his own question somewhat lamely, "Of course you can."

"I," Aeris said with heated emphasis, "am just as capable of defending myself—of defending this room—as you are."

Rubbing at his cheek with one hand, Leon nodded, trying somewhat belatedly to dam the tide of her ire that he'd unleashed. Aeris continued, advancing on him with slow, determined and decidedly threatening steps, "I may not wield a gunblade, or a sword that's ridiculously oversized, or a katana that's three times as long as I am tall, but I _can_—" Having closed in on him, she emphasized the word by jabbing him hard in the chest with one finger, "hold my own in a fight."

Leon looked at her with the expression of one who had just gained new insight, and that expression was mirrored on the faces of the others in the room. This wasn't the ever cheerful, always soft-spoken Aeris they were accustomed to—this was a woman who wasn't to be trifled with. Leon opened his mouth to say something, but she cut him off, standing on tip-toe to ensure they were face to face. "So stop treating me like I'm some helpless little ninny. This is just as much my battle as it is yours—or have you forgotten that this used to be my home, as well?"

Leon shook his head, and after another moment of glaring at him with an impressive amount of indignation, irritation and heavy warning combined, Aeris receded. Mouths agape, Sora and the others watched as she took a deep breath and then smiled sunnily at them all.

"Shouldn't you be going?" She asked.

Her query was met with hasty nods, and the room began to empty quickly. Leon was the last to leave, edging backwards towards the door while keeping his gaze, a little more cautious and suspicious than it had been before, trained on her. When he hesitated at the threshold her eyes narrowed, and he said quickly, "Well, if you've got it covered—"

"I do." She said calmly, and there was a glint in her eyes that warned against any further comments like the one he had first made.

"Then I'll be going," he said, still somewhat rattled by the sudden yet short change that had occurred in her demeanour.

"You do that."

And as Leon passed through the door into Ansem's study proper, he pitied any Heartless that dare make its way past that point.

**.X.**

**_Sol's Notes: _**_I found the scene where Leon assumed Aeris incapable of defending the computer room to be amusing, so I decided to elaborate on it._**  
**


	2. Setzerrrr!

**.X.**

"That's him! That's Setzer!"

"Where?" Hayner demanded, shoving past others to get himself to the front of the crowd and in doing so completely blocking Roxas' view. After apologizing to the person whose toes he had inadvertently trod on—a glowering Fuu—Roxas pushed his way back through the crowd until he again stood shoulder to shoulder with Hayner and Pence. His eyes scanned the crowded sandlot, looking for the renowned Struggle champion whom he had never before seen.

"Where?" He asked Olette, who had made the initial statement and was standing on Hayner's other side. "I don't see him."

"There." It was Pence that pointed, and Roxas' eyes followed the direction his finger indicated to see nothing more than a large group of noisy girls. He opened his mouth to ask Pence if he was sure when suddenly the group of noisy girls began to scream in utter adoration.

"Setzerrrrrrr!"

And then he saw him, the Struggle champion many times over, standing in the midst of the fawning fangirls. From this distance, Roxas could discern very little about the man other than he was tall, had a full head of long, stylishly wild silver hair and …

Was dressed in purple.

"Are you sure that's him?" Roxas asked, confused.

"Of course it is!" Hayner said, punching him hard in the shoulder. "He's only been the champion for years—I can't believe you've never seen him before."

"Yeah …" Roxas muttered, eyeing the champion, but his reply was lost in another uproar of breathy cries.

"Setzerrrrrrrr!"

"C'mon!" Hayner grabbed Roxas by the wrist and began to tow him forth, glancing over his shoulder with a grin. "It's about to start. Do you remember our promise?"

Roxas nodded, but Hayner went on as if he wasn't sure his friend retained information well. "One of us _has_ to make it to the finals, right? We can't let Seifer win!"

"Right." Roxas said, something purple catching his eye and momentarily distracting him.

"And just think," Hayner went on, having stopped in front of the scoreboard and releasing Roxas' arm. "If one of us wins, we get to fight—"

"Setzerrrrrrrr!" The Fangirls screamed right on cue.

"So good luck, okay?" Hayner held out his fist to Roxas, and Roxas knocked his own fist against it. Pence and Olette, who had followed, gave them both thumbs up as the announcer stepped up onto the fighting arena and began to speak.

"Welcome, everyone, to Twilight Town's annual Struggle! We have with us this year four promising contestants—give them all a hand and then we'll introduce them!"

As the crowd began to roar with enthusiasm—barring the occasional shouted derogatory remark and a harmonized chorus of "Setzerrrr!"—Hayner grinned at Roxas, and Roxas grinned back. This was the day they'd been looking forward to for most of their vacation.

**.X.**

If someone had ever asked Roxas what color befitted a Struggle champion, purple would not be on his list of answers. But having risen through the competition, defeating in succession Hayner and Vivi, Roxas now found himself face to face with said Struggle champion. And that champion was wearing purple.

Lots of it. Setzer wore a purple shirt, a flamboyant purple sash over black pants, and purple boots. Even his eyes were violet, and they stood out very vividly in compliment to the rest of the outfit. The long black coat trimmed in yellow draped over his shoulders and the dark belt with a skull as a buckle were more to what Roxas had envisioned the champion wearing, but even they couldn't offset the abundance of purple. As the announcer stood before them and bellowed out their names and various attributes, Setzer glanced down at Roxas and gave a very bright and charming smile.

"I won't hold back, you know." He said.

Roxas nodded. He'd expected as much. The announcer stepped down and the two opponents moved to take up their positions. Setzer dipped down in a courtly bow, inciting his Fangirls to cry out in admiration.

"Setzerrrrr!"

"Roxas? Is that your name?" When Roxas nodded, the champion eyed him almost thoughtfully. Around them the crowd shouted encouragement or insults, and Roxas could hear his name being chanted energetically by his friends. After a moment Setzer said, "Hey—do a favour for me? Throw the match."

"I—what?"

"I can make it worth your while," the champion said, eyebrows rising.

"Get real!" Roxas snapped, half incredulous and half indignant; Setzer threw back his head with a laugh.

"Alright, boy. Let's get this over with. I have some ladies waiting to attend to me."

And as they faced each other, weapons held ready, Roxas took deep breaths and focused one thing, and one thing only. If he won this match, if he became Struggle champion—

He wouldn't wear purple.

**.X.**

_**Sol's Notes: **This, while being largely redundant, was based mostly on my own peeve about Setzer's clothing when I first started playing the game. I have since come to like it. _


	3. Silk Ruffles

_**Sol's Notes: **Please be warned that this is a crack ficlet in the purest sense of the word—take none of it seriously. It was also part of a writing challenge: "A character of the writer's choice is forced to wear something that they would never wear in public/be embarrassed to be seen in, but have secretly always wanted? And other characters see this, all expressing their own views, and so forth." _

_As well, for all intents and purposes in this story, Axel and Demyx are alive and aided in the downfall of the Organization, and people from different worlds can effectively co-mingle._

**.X.**

"Why?" Axel demanded, and there was a very distinct undercurrent of threat in his tone that promised imminent pain for somebody. "Why me?"

"It's not just you." This came from Sora, leaning against a cherry-wood wardrobe in the far corner of the room. His eyes met Axel's in the mirror, and Axel could tell how very hard Sora was working on suppressing a grin. The bearer of the Keyblade went on in a tone that would have been placating had it not been for the quiver of mirth lying beneath, "We all have to dress up for this, you know."

The redheaded former member of the now defunct Organization didn't deign to reply, instead giving his reflection a particularly venomous glare. The entirety of his lean, rangy body was swathed in what the court tailor—who apparently even fitted the King upon occasion—deemed finery. To Axel it seemed nothing more than an abundance of cloth that was far too loose in some places and far too tight in others. A shirt of emerald silk with a neckline that would have looked more appropriate on a woman of considerable bust spilled ruffles all down his chest; the sleeves were huge, drooping and also ruffled. And as if the affront of ruffles wasn't enough, he'd been coerced into wearing tan breeches of some kind of fine kidskin that hugged his legs like a second skin. A heavy silk cloak with a tall wide collar was draped over both his shoulders and fell to mid-thigh, clasping about his neck with a thick silver chain. The only part of the ensemble he didn't mind were the boots—knee length with a riding heel, polished to a fine black shine.

He said unhappily, "I look like a pansy."

There was a muffled snort from the other corner of the room; Demyx, similarly attired in hues of grey and blue but for some reason looking more dashing than foppish, was smirking openly. "You look fine," he told his comrade, striding forth to stand beside Axel in front of the mirror. "The green stands out nice with your hair—by the way, are you going to be doing something with it …?" He lifted his hands to touch the mass of very red layered spikes rising from Axel's head, but when Axel growled low in his throat he hastily withdrew his touch. He went on, "You look … kind of royal, actually."

Axel eyed himself in the mirror. True, the clothes did lend him a regal air … he propped one hand on his hip and angled himself only the slightest bit, noting the way the silk of the shirt caught the light as he did so.

At his side, Demyx said with a giggle, "And besides, certain parts of your anatomy are, ummm …?"

"Shut up!" Axel snarled, and his dour mood returned full force. Making a concentrated effort not to shield his groin from view, he whirled around and jerked the cloak from his shoulders, letting it fall into a crumpled heap on the ground. "I," he almost shouted, growing even angrier when he noted that Sora was curled into a small ball on the floor, convulsing with suppressed mirth, "Am. Not. Wearing. This!"

"Axel, you have to!" Demyx said, and managed to duck just in time to avoid the wadded up ball of the green silk shirt.

The redheaded man wasn't listening, having wrenched open the doors to the wardrobe and begun rifling violently through it. After several minutes of ripping other offensive articles of clothing from their hangers and throwing them over his shoulder, he made a final, triumphant noise and held up his prize. "This," he said, leaning close to Demyx and prodding him in the chest with one finger, "is what I'm going to wear. It's all I'm ever going to wear, from this point on."

Demyx shook his head as Axel turned away and began donning the old familiar black robe both of them had worn in darker days of their lives. "But the King—"

"Will have to accept the fact that while we may now be allies, it does not mean I will wear ruffles to every Kingdom event. Or silk. Or any of this other crap."

"You looked good," Sora offered in a voice made weak by laughter from his position on the floor.

"Shut up."

"Axel—" Demyx started, running a hand through his sandy brown hair arranged as it always was in a sort of semi-mohawk.

"You shut up, too. This discussion is over. I'd rather wear a dress than wear those."

This suggestion gave Sora cause to start laughing again, though a glare from Axel in his direction made him stifle the sniggering with one hand. A bell tolled from somewhere in the castle, signalling the reunification banquet—a dinner the King had arranged so that representatives from all worlds could come together in discussion and learning in these new times of peace—was about to begin. Garbed once more in the dark ankle length robe he'd come to regard as "comfy", Axel turned and with narrowed eyes looked from Sora to Demyx.

"Well?" He snapped. Sora got to his feet and didn't bother to staunch his quiet laughter as he left the room. Demyx followed, his own grin almost impossibly wide. Axel left the room after them, taking care as he did so to deliberately tread on every piece of the previous outfit he had been wearing. He may have helped to defeat his fellow Nobodies, and he may have helped to bring about the fall of Organization XIII, but hell would freeze over before he ever wore something like that out in public.

Although, he mused as he sauntered down the hall, he didn't look that bad in green.

**.X.**


End file.
